


It Isn't Every Day You Win a Peabody

by Happy9450



Category: The Newsroom
Genre: F/M, Pre-Series
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-30
Updated: 2014-09-30
Packaged: 2018-02-19 10:20:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,059
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2384825
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Happy9450/pseuds/Happy9450





	It Isn't Every Day You Win a Peabody

"Do you want to come in?" she asked, looking up into his eyes and biting her lower lip as if contemplating the question herself.

Oh, Christ! Will McAvoy, Atlantis Cable News's poster boy and anchor of "News Night," its flagship program, felt his pulse flutter, his respiration rate increase and his heart pound in response to a massive out pouring of adrenalin as his body prepared to fight or flee. He needed to get a grip, he thought, play it cool, drink coffee and leave, if that's what she has in mind. But he didn't think so. Not after . . . God! What was it? . . . six, seven months of dating. 

He leaned down and kissed MacKenzie McHale's lips. Kissing it seemed was alright to do "at will," and so he did, taking every opportunity that came along. It was a glorious freedom for a man who, for as far back as he could remember, constantly planned and censored his every move, assessing each gesture for its potential to enrage the beast and bring the wrath of John McAvoy (or later, of the audience or some other imagined higher power) down on his head.

"Yes," he said holding her gaze. "There is nothing I'd like more."

It was almost 9:00 PM. Mac and Will stood at her apartment door still dressed in the clothes they had worn to the Peabody Awards Luncheon at the Waldof-Astoria that afternoon. 

 

They had left the hotel together in a taxi with Mac clutching a bronze medal bearing George Peabody's likeness mounted on a small cylindrical stand. She had won it as part of a production team during a short-term gig at ABC, but it was a Peabody and hers nonetheless.

"When the hell did that happen?" Leona Lansing had asked a beaming Charlie Skinner as the taxi into which Mac and Will climbed was pulling away from the hotel's curb. 

"Happy, isn't he?" Charlie said by way of an answer, his eyes squinting from both sun and emotion. He shook his head in wonder. "Have you ever seen him like that before?"

"Panting and salivating?" she shot back, keeping her face deadpan as he turned to her. But she was forced to crack a smile in response to the one that covered Charlie's face. Hers faded slightly when she realized from the look in his eye that something about McAvoy and McHale had taken him back. She wouldn't . . . couldn't . . . encourage him. It was always best to act as if their relationship had started when he took over the News Division the fall that Reese was sixteen. So she forced herself to smile brightly and ignore it. Besides she really was curious as to how "News Night's" Anchor and EP had managed to fall in love under her nose without her noticing. 

"So, how long, Charlie?" she asked again.

"Since the moment he laid eyes on her, I think."

"Wait a minute. That's a year, a little more. She was with that Newsweek guy . . . What's his name?"

"Brenner. Brian Brenner."

"Yes! She was with him when we hired her."

"He broke up with her a couple months after she got to ACN . . . ."

"Idiot!" Leona spit out the word as only she could. "And McHale jumped right into bed with McAvoy?" 

Now, Charlie's smile broadened even further. "Not at all. In fact, I'm pretty sure that's still a coming attraction."

"Seriously! When did they start dating?" Will and Mac seemed so comfortable with each other at the luncheon she'd assumed they'd been lovers for a while.

"He gave her a quarterbacking lesson in the park last . . . October . . . early November, maybe . . . ."

"A what lesson?"

"Football . . . quarterbacking." He mimed throwing a pass. "They'd been having a few weeks of working lunches and dinners before that, but after the park, they started to go to a lot of shows and plays together and movies and art galleries on weekends . . . stuff like that too."

"But no sex."

Charlie's face sobered. "I think she was hurt pretty badly by Brenner, and not just the break-up. As best I can tell, he's the kind that builds himself up by tearing others down. She had almost three years of that. And, she's really just a kid, you know. We forget it 'cause she's the best fucking EP who ever drew breath. But in this, she needs time, and Will knows it." As he spoke, Charlie looked like a proud father, Leona thought. "And," he added, smiling again, "she's a very clever girl."

"So what's he been doing? You think McAvoy's been getting any on the side?"

"Not a chance! Celibate as a priest, he is." This last, Charlie said in an imitation Irish brogue. "And twice as frustrated."

Leona shook her head in wonder as AWM 1 glided to a stop in front of them. She jabbed Charlie playfully in the ribs, and said, against her better judgment but unable to stop herself, "And to think, I thought I held out on you." 

"It was wartime," Charlie replied, pulling her over to whisper it in her ear.

"Get in the car, old man!" she commanded.

 

Mac and Will had made a day of it, walking, talking, kissing and having dinner at a romantic little Italian bistro in the Village, during which Will had smiled incessantly when he wasn't chewing (and sometimes even when he was). He played constantly with her hands, bringing them to his lips and twining their fingers together. Somewhere during the afternoon a thought had begun to form in MacKenzie's mind that matured as she ate her pasta. Billy's happy for me, she thought, about the Peabody, he's really happy, even proud in a quasi-paternal sort of way. These emotions were genuine, she could see that, they came straight from his heart. 

Brian might have been able to have faked it through the luncheon, but not this long. She knew that deep down Brian would have been jealous, not pleased and proud. He would have found ways to remind her that she was only a minor player on the winning team, something that didn't seem to have occurred to Will, and intimate that the whole Peabody Award was something of a joke since broadcast media was inherently less prestigious than the written word. And he would have found other ways to tear her down. He'd certainly have demanded sex . . . .

She looked at Will across the table and studied him. Watching his hands tear a piece of bread, she blushed slightly, hoping that he wouldn't notice. A few weeks back she'd started dreaming about him, dreaming about him touching her, and being touched by her. More recently, the dreams had become so intense that she awakened from them aroused and aching, and unable to fall back to sleep, had pleasured herself and pretended it was Will's fingers caressing her, not her own. 

She knew he wanted her. She had known it since the football lesson in the park. But Brian had wanted her too, at least that way. Until he didn't, of course. Why was she even thinking of Brian? She shook her head in a involuntary motion that Will now recognized as a gesture that she made when she was forcibly redirecting her attention from something painful or disturbing. Her relationship with Will was so different. Will respected her. Indeed, there were times, every day from 8:00 to 9:00, really, when he allowed her to utterly control him. But it was more than that. Will wanted her to succeed. Will wanted her to be happy. Will trusted her. Will loved her. The thought popped into her head like a revelation, the way people describe a moment of faith, she thought. He had never said it, but suddenly she knew that Billy loved her as surely as she knew her own name.

"What are you thinking, Mac?" he asked softly, startling her out of her reverie. 

"I was thinking that I am very happy and very lucky to have had you share this day with me. It was important and you've made it a thousand times more special."

He seemed too touched by her words to speak, and as they looked into each other's eyes, Mac felt hers fill with tears, as something that was half pain, half pleasure swelled inside of her. I don't want this to end, she thought. I'm afraid it will end. 

"Mac?" he asked haltingly, a note of worry, or was it fear, creeping into his voice. 

"I don't know what's the matter with me," she replied, brushing her tears away. "I'm fine, really." She aimed a dazzling smile in his direction. "Happy, actually. Honest."

He paid the check and they left the restaurant a few minutes later. Will kept his arm around her in the cab as it travelled uptown to her apartment. I don't want this to end, she thought again. I don't want to go to bed alone. I don't want to dream about him. I want to feel him. 

And so she asked him in. She turned on a lamp that sat on a table just inside the door and intended to ask him if he wanted coffee or a glass of wine, but as soon as the door closed behind them, his lips were on hers and all thoughts of manners vanished. Then, he pulled back and looked at her expectantly. There was something about his expression that touched her heart so deeply, she almost gasped. He was afraid, she thought, not at all sure that he would be accepted . . . wanted . . . cared about. It was as though News Night's polished erudite anchor had been stripped away by the kiss and someone else was left standing there in her entry way . . . a little boy who . . . my God! . . . it hit her . . . who isn't sure he's worthy of being loved.

She wanted to take that look away. She wanted him to know how truly wonderful he was . . . how much she valued him. She kissed him passionately, pressing her body against his so hard that they took two steps backward until the wall prevented any further movement. Her hands came up and into his hair as her mouth opened wider and she sucked in his tongue. His hands moved from her waist to her back as one of his thighs pushed her legs slightly apart. She felt lightheaded from the kiss and giddy with desire. She could feel herself growing damp as she pressed herself against him. She had never wanted . . . anyone . . . this way. She felt a flash of disloyalty to Brian, but brushed it away. 

Gasping, she broke away from the kiss. She felt him pull back his thigh, although they continued to stand close enough that she could feel his erection. "Do you want . . . ?" she started to ask, but stopped, distracted by his reaching up and smoothing away the hair that had fallen in front of her face. She could see him breathing hard, but trying to moderate it, trying to school his face into a normal expression. He thinks I'm going to offer him tea, she thought, and could barely control a giggle. 

"Billy," she breathed, "do you want to take me to bed?"

His answer was more of a moan than a spoken word. His lips descended onto her neck and moved up slowly trailing kisses along her throat, behind her ear and along her jawline. An involuntary shiver travelled down her spine. Brian's desire for her, she realized, had always felt like control. Will's felt like . . . celebration. She reached for his hand and led him through the darkness of her apartment to her bedroom. Once there, she pulled away long enough to turn on her nightlight, and then returned to his arms. 

He turned her around and slowly lowered the zipper on the back of her dress, revealing first the back of her black lace bra and then matching panties covered by the sheer film of her pantyhose. He slid the dress from her shoulders and realized that he could see her back quite well in the dim diffused light. 

She was less voluptuous than in his fantasies, leaner, more muscled, with slimmer hips. He lowered her dress to the floor and when she stepped out of it, he tossed it onto a chair by the bed. He unclasped her bra, slipped it off her shoulders and arms, and turned her to face him. Her breasts were smaller than he had dreamed them, but exquisitely shaped with large nipples that were firm and dark with arousal. He lowered his head to take each one briefly into his mouth and felt her moan deep in her throat and tremble. He knew her nipples were prominent because she had this sheer cream colored silk blouse that he loved and when she wore it and got really excited pitching a concept, her nipples would sometimes show a little through her bra and camisole. When that happened she always got her way (well, truth be told, she usually got her way) because by the time she'd ask him what he thought of her idea, he'd have been too lost in the fantasy of having one of those nipples between his lips to know what in the fuck she was talking about, and so, would simply agree.

He knelt at her feet and removed her spike-heeled black pumps. He was immediately struck by the fact that he was so used to seeing her in those impossibly high Louboutins, he forgot that in her bare feet she was seven inches shorter than he. She stood looking at him as he bent down and removed her pantyhose, leaving her clad only in a tiny black lace thong. As he slowly finished undressing her, he concluded that she was the most attractive . . . most beautiful . . . woman he had ever seen. 

He wanted to tell her that he loved her, but instead, he said simply, "you are beautiful, Kenz, every inch of you . . . so, so beautiful." He had no idea where the name, Kenz, had come from, or if anyone else ever called her that, but somehow it fit the moment.

She smiled shyly, he thought, as though she were not quite convinced of his sincerity, and said, "And you have on far too many clothes." 

She reached up and removed his suit coat, dropped it by her dress and began to remove his tie. He rested his hands on her waist and allowed her to unbutton his shirt. Then, when it had joined his tie and jacket on the chair, he raised his arms and removed his undershirt. She rose on tiptoes and kissed his lips. She trailed kisses down his neck and chest and taking one of his nipples into her mouth, sucked it as he had hers. At some point his hands had come up to cup her breasts and roll her nipples gently between his thumbs and index fingers. Then she unbuckled his belt, unzipped his pants and slipped her hand in to stroke and tease his erection through his boxers. He was rock-hard and bigger than she'd imagined. But, she guessed that this was to be expected since at 6'3" and 200 lbs., Will was a considerably larger man than either her Cambridge University boyfriend or Brenner, the only two people with whom she'd ever had sex. As she stroked, she was rewarded by a series of groans and his breathing becoming more ragged.

Will was so lost in the realization that this was MacKenzie's hand on his cock that by the time he returned to reality he was so near to coming he wasn't sure if he could control it. "Mac . . . Mac . . . I . . . I'm . . . Don't . . . Please . . . ."

He heard her chuckle and felt her withdraw her hand. She dropped to her knees and untied his shoes. Then, standing again, she pushed his pants to the floor. He stepped out of them and his shoes in one motion and removed his socks. He had the body of the high school and college athlete that he had been, she thought. He'd never totally let himself go and he'd resumed regular visits to the gym to flatten his stomach and tone his ass, arms and legs when they'd begun dating and he'd started planning for this day. He'd also cut way back on his cigarette consumption when she'd made it clear that the habit appalled her. 

As he straightened up, she said, "you're pretty beautiful yourself, Billy." Putting her hands on each side of the waistband of his boxers, she slowly pulled them down and off. As she rose, she lightly trailed her fingers up his length, sending a shockwave through his system that rivaled or possibly exceeded the one that had travelled through him when he'd first kissed her in the park. Whatever expression it put on his face (he wasn't sure how he'd appeared) made her smile.

"Come here," she beckoned, moving to stretch out on the bed. He covered her with his body and she opened her legs. Since he wasn't sure that he could trust himself to last much longer, he decided to simply follow her lead and cut to the chase. She was wet, but very tight and pushing into her felt heavenly. Then, as he raised his head to look at her, he caught a glimpse of a wince pass across her face. Christ! I'm hurting her, he thought, and she's letting me! He pulled back and out, thinking about how small and young she was, and that she hadn't been with anyone for almost a year. 

"Will. No. You don't . . . have to stop." He saw alarm, maybe even fear in her eyes. 

He kissed her gently. "Shush, babe . . . I'm not . . . But I'm not going to hurt you . . . I won't . . . ." He kissed her again, and brushed the hair from her forehead. "Lie back . . . let me do this . . . my way." And with that he began trailing kisses down her body, all the way to her feet. He kissed her feet and sucked on her toes. Then he began traveling slowly back up those glorious long legs until he reached the place where they met her torso. He spread her gently and kissed the soft pink flesh. He heard her gasp in surprise and what he hoped was pleasure. After a few moments, during which he was sure she'd been enjoying herself, she seemed to be trying to push him away. 

"Will, you don't . . . ."

He brought his lips up to her ear. "Hasn't anyone ever done this for you?" he asked.

He thought he saw her blush although it was hard to tell, and she seemed to struggle for an answer. Without waiting, he spoke softly again, "well, not like I'm going to do it. No one will ever do it for you the way I'm going to do it."

Then, kissing, licking and sucking, he drove her wild. Waves of pleasure rippled through her body, intense, consuming and unlike anything she had ever experienced. Although she thought she should, she was incapable of stopping him, and within minutes, her hands were fisted in his hair and pulling him closer. As the sensations built into a crescendo more intense than any experience in her entire life, she began pressing herself against his mouth, almost without realizing she was doing it. She heard herself breathless and moaning, and finally screaming his name as sensation over-powered reason and decorum and she convulsed repeatedly against him. And still he didn't stop. Shifting position, he used his fingers to open her and send her up and up and up again and again until she felt like her body was turning itself inside out with pleasure and release. 

Finally, slowly and so gently it made her want to cry, Will slid effortlessly and painlessly into her. He felt so good. It was like being completed in a way that she had not even realized had been lacking. The thought flashed into her head that she had not realized before now how often sex with Brian had been uncomfortable, even painful, but she drove it away. She didn't want to think about anyone but Will. He filled her mind, spirit and body. He was all that mattered to her, the only other human being on the plant. As he moved back and forth, she felt her body changing inside, hardening around him in a way that was new to her. Again without realizing it, she began to rock her hips and match him thrust for thrust.

Will was simply lost in her, the taste of her and the feel of her around him. He felt like he had never been truly alive before this evening. He loved her. There was no denying it. Although he had always guarded against falling in love, as time had passed, he'd also despaired of ever finding someone who could inspire him to love. But, he had always wondered what loving a woman would feel like. Now he knew. It was wanting to protect her, to care for her, to make her happy, to watch her smile and laugh, to make love to her every day for the rest of his life. He had found the one thing . . the one person . . . that he simply could not live without. MacKenzie Morgan McHale was his addiction, his heroin. 

He opened his eyes and studied her face, as he felt her body change and signal that she was nearing orgasm again. He shifted the angle at which he moved inside her, heard her gasp and push harder against his thrusts. He heard himself moan over her gasping, ragged breathing. Then she began to make a noise in the back of her throat with each breath, a noise that seemed to directly trigger a response in his body. He lost control and felt the familiar pumping sensation begin deep in his belly. He heard a high pitched whine escape MacKenzie's throat. Her hands clutched his back as her legs came up and wrapped around him. Her body spasmed violently as he gave himself, his life and his future to her.

 

Will awoke with a start. He found his phone. 2:37 AM. He had not expected to fall asleep. She was curled against him and appeared to be sleeping as well. He knew that some people did not like overnight guests, did not enjoy the awkwardness of the morning after. He knew because he was one of them, or had been one of them. Now he wanted nothing more than to awaken with MacKenzie beside him every morning for the rest of his life. But, he needed to go slowly, he reminded himself. She was young . . . young and smart and beautiful and sexy . . . so sexy, and without, it appeared, the slightest idea of how good in bed she really was. He pushed his father's warning voice from his mind. Before sleep had come, he had lain with her in his arms becoming more and more frightened of losing her.

"Mac," he whispered. "MacKenzie . . . ." 

She stirred.

"Do you want me to go?" When there was no answer, he repeated the question. "Kenz, do you want me to leave?"

She rolled toward him and her leg and arm wrapped around his body, pinning him to the bed, as she sleepily mumbled, "Billy?"

"Do you want me to leave?"

She pressed her face into his shoulder. He thought for a moment that she'd fallen back asleep, but then, he heard her voice.

"No. No. Never."

"Alright. I'll stay. Go back to sleep." He kissed her hair, as she seemed to instantly return to slumber.

Will McAvoy hadn't cried since the day that he'd buried his mother, but he could not stop the tears that filled his eyes that night. He loved MacKenzie McHale more than he thought possible, and he feared losing her more than the loss of his own life. In all the years to come, he would make love to her countless times. He would hold her in ecstasy and joy, in pride, in sickness, in injury and childbirth. He would brutally savage her and set into motion events that would leave her with physical and emotional scars that would never fully heal. He would spend more than five years telling himself that he no longer needed her. But not for a moment, would he ever leave her again.


End file.
